


She'll Break You in Two

by zombiejosette



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiejosette/pseuds/zombiejosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(1970 Parallel Time) It's been forced into their minds that the sun rises and sets only for Angelique; Angelique was the one everyone loved, the one everyone knew would rise to the occasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She'll Break You in Two

She’s the reason that he always carries a spare piece of staff paper with him. He never knows when he’ll see her, but when he does, he can’t stop the melody from immediately forming in his brain. Bruno Hess knows it’s the best music that he’s ever written, and he also knows that when he loses sight of Angelique, he loses the music not long afterward.   
  
It gets to the point where he’s humming it in front of her without thinking. He’s lost track of the conversation, lost only in her, in her grace, in her beauty, in her kindness, in the way that she lets him into her room without question. She says that they’re friends, and Bruno doesn’t question that for a second. He knows she’s married, but he knows how easily friendship can turn into something more, but even if it doesn’t, he’ll let go of any and all ideas of intimacy just to be close to her. But he isn’t thinking of that as he lets the melody flow gently out of him. He doesn’t notice the way that she stares at him, her blue eyes betraying her amusement. It’s like he’s forgotten she’s in the room at all until he pulls the paper from his pocket and begins to scribble down the notes. She asks him what he’s writing, and he becomes flustered at the fact that he’s been ignoring her. So flustered that he can only blurt, “A song.”  
  
Angelique doesn’t seem perturbed by his bluntness at all. It’s one of the things Bruno loves about her. The way she can accept anything with ease, and this is no exception as she laughs a tinkling laugh and responds, “You should write me a song, Bruno.”  
  
“Only if you’ll be the first to play it for me,” he responds with a grin. He can’t tell if she’s joking, but how can he hide that she’s become his muse? She’s the only one that he can write for.  
  
She smiles and there’s a twinkle in her eye and it sends another wave of music through Bruno’s ears, so much that he has to hurry to scribble it all down before he loses it. He doesn’t tell her that he already has written her a song, so many songs that he’s lost count. But this one, Bruno won’t have to hide anymore.  
  


\---

  


Even in death, he still can’t get over her.

Sabrina watches as he handles Angelique’s body with the utmost care, as if he were simply caressing a sleeping lover. She knows she should have expected it, but the gaze that he gives Angelique sends white hot anger through Sabrina. He touches a blonde lock of hair, and it happens again. Sabrina has to bite her tongue from commenting on it, though she’s not sure if Cyrus will hear her. He’s in one of his moods; he’ll blame it on science, on his own concentration, but he’s always been like this with Angelique. It’s insane that she should be jealous of a corpse, but it’s become a trained response. Cyrus can talk for ages about the connection he had with Angelique, how they were two rare specimens that completely understood each other. There’s no other reaction that she can have to Angelique. She had hoped that maybe now that life and death separated the two, she would finally see peace herself, that she could finally have Cyrus –  _entirely_  Cyrus – but now Sabrina only feels like a fool, and she excuses herself without a word. Cyrus doesn’t notice.

Later – much later, when all is said and done and Angelique is nowhere to be found, dead or alive – Sabrina creeps down the stairs to his lab to find him asleep at his desk, his journal open and the pen still poised in his hand, glasses setting askew on his face. She smiles to herself and sets the teacup down, sliding his glasses off of his face, and suddenly he jolts awake, grinning sheepishly when he sees her. He takes the glasses back and shuts the journal and blows gently on the tea, mumbling on and on about how foolish he was to fall asleep, he has work to be done, rest isn’t an option right now, and it’s enough to remind Sabrina why she stays with him.

All it takes is a photograph of Angelique laying next to his journal for her to question it all over again.

\---

  


The day of Angelique’s funeral, Alexis sits comfortably at home.

She’s shed her tears already, more from shock than actual grief, and besides, she’s sure that those in attendance will shed more than enough to cover her. 

Alexis hasn’t seen her sister in years, since Angelique married Quentin. And while she finds it – _strange_  – for lack of a better word, to suddenly be in a world without her twin sister, she’s amazed at how easily the world keeps moving. Ever since childhood, it’s been forced into her mind that the sun rises and sets only for Angelique; Angelique was the one everyone loved, the one everyone knew would rise to the occasion. Alexis was merely a poor substitute, the one shoved into a corner for a rainy day and then forgotten about.

And now, everything’s changed.

It’s not grief that overwhelms Alexis, it’s a strange, meloncholy feeling that she’s never felt before. It almost frightens her. She’s not sure to do about the fact that perhaps the clouds have finally obscured the sun. Perhaps her rainy day has finally come, and she’s allowed out of her dusty corner.

The feeling is fleeting, and Alexis settles again when she realizes that there’s nothing she can do about it. She would be days late for the funeral as it were, and besides, she never was one for dramatic entrances. That was always one of Angelique’s many specialties.

She’s not even sure they would notice her, if she did, if only to comment on how they thought that they had seen a ghost.

\---

  
Quentin won’t let her change the lock to Angelique’s room, and Hoffman is furious. She marches in there herself – making sure to lock the door behind her. She can’t be disturbed. It’s been almost six months they say. She should move on, they say. Collinwood will move on without it’s mistress, they say, but Hoffman knows they’re wrong. How could Collinwood move on without Angelique, without her poise, without everything that she stood for? Hoffman has lost count of how many times she’s sunken almost lifelessly into one of Angelique’s old chairs, eyes fixed on the portrait of her mistress, and then the troubles start pouring out of her mouth. She knows Angelique is still here, that Angelique will never leave Collinwood, will never leave  _Quentin_. She tells Angelique that she knows it would be so unlike her, that the others will come to their senses in time, not to worry.

The fact that she doesn’t get an answer isn’t unnerving to her at all. It has almost the opposite effect: the silence is almost comforting. She can picture exactly what Angelique would say, the way her eyes would move, the way she would smile, the way she would tuck a blonde curl behind her ear and laugh. The way that she would head to the piano and play loudly, and - 

The piano’s silence is what finally makes Hoffman snap, and she can’t help the overwhelming sense of loneliness that comes crashing down over her shoulders, and, shaking, she hurries over to the wardrobe. Elizabeth hasn’t gotten her hands on Angelique’s clothes yet, and if Hoffman sees to it, she never will. It’s Hoffman’s only solace in that particular moment, and in so many others before it. All she has to do is touch the cloth, feel it run through her fingers, smell Angelique’s perfume still on it, and suddenly everything is fine. It’s as though Angelique never left in the first place. It’s all that she needs.

\---

  
The new Missus Collins has never set foot into Collinwood. She hasn’t been in the vicinity of the estate for twelve years, and Quentin is the only member of the family that she’s had the pleasure of meeting. He had insisted on eloping. A private wedding. No one they knew had been in attendance, but Maggie Collins-formerly-Evans had been too lovestruck to complain. 

It’s beginning to take it’s toll.

Quentin has his jaw set an odd way as they drive back from Boston. He looks angry, but as though he’s trying to hide it. Maggie’s not sure how she can already tell that, but she assumes that Quentin isn’t very good at hiding his emotions and she lightly touches his arm. He turns to her, eyes wild for a moment, but he calms and gives her a slight smile and asks what the problem is. She turns the question right back on him.

He doesn’t respond, concentrating on the road in front of him, the headlights of his car cutting through the darkness.

Maggie can’t help but frown as she curls up in the passenger seat. 

“I’m nervous about going to Collinwood,” she confesses. 

“Don’t be.” Quentin’s words are gentle as he flicks his eyes over to her, and this time she can’t stop her smile.

“I can’t help it. It sounds like I’ve got a lot to live up to.” Maggie laughs softly, but cuts off abruptly as Quentin turns to her, his face angry again.

“Don’t talk about her,” he snaps, and suddenly Maggie is at a loss for words. There’s a long pause, and Quentin apologizes under his breath, but Maggie says nothing and they both stare out the windshield for a long time. Maggie bites her lip to keep from saying anything else. She doesn’t want to upset him anymore. What was nervousness a moment ago just turns into utter fear and she needs something to cling to. Something to stop her from trembling. Something to give her the strength she needs. Her handkerchief will have to do as they cross the bridge into Collinsport.


End file.
